


Restitution

by Katzedecimal



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Gen, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2012-08-18
Packaged: 2017-11-12 09:12:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katzedecimal/pseuds/Katzedecimal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Tell me something, Sergeant," the short blond man had fumed at her, "If you were taken, who would you want looking for you?" And her eyes had betrayed her, for her eyes had immediately flicked to <b>him.</b></i>  But <b>he</b> would never find her, <b>he</b> would never come looking for her.  <b>He</b> was dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Restitution

The pain had faded to a dull roar. _Who would have thought it could do that?_ she thought, staring idly at the dark streaks on the floor. She wouldn't have thought it would fade far enough for her to notice the plebian ache of her hip, sore from sitting in one position for so long. She shifted, trying to ease the ache, and the small movements awoke the pain again. 

_They'll never find me in time._

She let her head loll, trying to flick her hair, matted to dreadlocks set with her own blood, out of her face. Her eyes fell again on the dark ribbons on the floor. Her eyes that had betrayed her. _"Tell me something, Sergeant," the short blond man had fumed at her, "If you were taken, who would you want looking for you?" And her eyes had betrayed her, for her eyes had immediately flicked to **him.**_

And now it was upon her. Now she had been taken. But **he** would never find her, **he** would never come looking for her. **He** was dead. 

Because of her. 

She stared at the dark streaks on the floor, oblivious to the slow tears that welled up in her swollen eyes and spilled onto her bruised cheeks, stinging in the wounds. 

He was dead. Pitched himself off the top of St. Barts, splatted on the sidewalk below. One step street pizza, maximum check-out. They'd found the other body but the prints and the gun angle indicated suicide. And then they'd found the phone. His 'note', as he'd called it. Their best cryptographers couldn't crack it but his short little doctor had it open in the span of a few minutes and then they heard it all. All of it. 

And she'd been wrong. Always, always wrong, when it came to **him.** And he was **dead** and she'd been taken and they would never find her in time because because because.... Let's face it - he'd been right. They were dumber than ten sacks of shit, each and every one of them. They'd never read the clues properly, never spot the patterns, never find her in time. No one would. _Even if he were alive, he wouldn't come for me. Not after what I've done. Not after how I treated him. He would't come for me. I'm sorry, little one. You never even got the chance._

_...was that... movement?_ She lifted her head, trying to peer through her swollen and blood-filled eyes, tensing. Tall, thin - her torturer was back. No... no? Her nose was nearly deadened from the smell of blood and rotting strips of skin but this person didn't smell the same as the silhouette inched towards her and knelt near her chair.

"Morning, Sally."

Her eyes tried to widen and more tears flowed. _No... No... He's dead! You're dead! How could you be here? ... Maybe I'm dead too?_

"If I pull this off, what's left of your lips will come away with it. Hold still." 

A box cutter, dragged carefully across the duct tape sealing her mouth, opening a slit. Her tongue was swollen but useable. "How..?"

"I see your team are still as ineffective as ever."

"You.. died?"

"Sorry, you must have me confused with someone else," her rescuer said in the voice that was the same, glancing at her with the same piercing eyes, "Linus Sigerson, Interpol. I hacked into your satellite feed. Did you know you were broadcasting?" She nodded. "Good. It's feeding a loop, now. Really, it was quite obvious where you were. Soon have you loose. Does Anderson know?"

She looked puzzled for a moment then realised what he meant and shook her head. "Will I lose it?"

"Don't ask me, I'm not the doctor."

"...Why?"

"Never took an interest."

"I mean... why are you here...? Why did you come...?"

Now he was wrapping bandage around her wounds, before he would cut the larger straps of duct tape. "Your captors are linked to the man I'm chasing. I was following a lead, learned what they had done, hacked their feed, there you were and here I am. Simple enough for you?"

"But...after everything I... why would you..."

"This level of bucolic stupidity is unusual even for you, Sergeant Donovan, so I'm going to chalk it up to trauma and blood loss. Possibly shock. Sorry, I don't have a blanket." The box cutter slashed through the duct tape and she reeled from the sudden change in blood pressure and surge of pain. 

When her head cleared, she decided to focus on something else. "Y'said.. these guys're linked... who're you chasing?"

He paused to pull out a set of images, "This man. His orders were to kill Lestrade, Dr. Watson and Mrs. Hudson if Sherlock Holmes didn't die. That order's still in effect."

She was nodding; now it was making ...not much sense, "So I'm some sort of bait? They chose **me** as bait?"

"Yes, clearly they're unfamiliar with the dynamics of our relationship," he smirked. "I knew where you were quite a while ago. Gave your team plenty of time to prove they had something other than concrete filling their skulls," he snorted in disgust, "Finally had to start giving them hints and it _still_ wasn't enough." Now _she_ snorted in disgust. "Yes, you're bait. He's not sure, otherwise the three he was set upon would be dead. But these idiots he's hired are clumsy, don't know a thing about proxies."

Another binding cut, another dizzying change in blood pressure and pain that threatened to swamp her consciousness. She forced herself to stay awake. "That man.. 've seen 'im.. Rec'ntly," she forced her thoughts through the fog in her brain, "Should have security footage."

"Can you get it to me?"

"Yes."

"Alright. I'll text you." He checked his watch then looked at her, "They should be here by now, but you can't walk. This'll hurt." And he hauled her up to carry her. She bit into the thick anorak covering his shoulder, to muffle her cries. 

* * * *

"Fat lot of good you were," Sally said crossly, from her hospital bed. 

"We came as soon as we could, Sally!" Anderson flinched back from the glare that she gave him, which looked all the worse for her blood-filled eyes. 

"Oh get off," she said bitterly, "Just get out. I'll deal with you later." Anderson put his tail between his legs and fled.

Lestrade shook his head and sighed, "How did you get out?"

"A passing Interpol agent found me. Saw his ID," she replied, "Those guys were linked to a man he's hunting, a man who was outside our office a few weeks ago as part of an armoured car crew. We need to find him on the security footage. If we can find it, I've promised it to Agent Sigerson."

Lestrade nodded, "Interpol, is it? Bad form he didn't stick around. Alright, anything we can do to help them with their enquiries?"

"I'd like to be Agent Sigerson's point of contact."

Again Lestrade nodded, "Understandable. Who is he chasing?"

Sally blew out a sigh between her reconstructed lips, though the sting brought tears to her eyes, "Y'know, it's interesting. He's chasing a mercenary who's wanted across the world for a lot of things but y'know what? - He's the bloke who was ordered to kill you and Dr. Watson if Holmes didn't die."

"I'm sorry, what was this about Sherlock?"

She tried to smile and thought better of it, "Hello, Doctor, was just thinking about you. The blokes who did this to me are tied to the bloke who was ordered to kill you if Holmes didn't jump. Seems he's quite a literal bloke, though - since his employer topped himself, he feels the order is still active. If there was any hint of Holmes being alive, you'd both be shot."

"Nice," Lestrade muttered, "I'll certainly feel safer with that one off the streets. Alright, I'll go get this underway, since they won't let me text from here." He grinned and stepped out. 

Dr. Watson watched him go then stepped up to look at Sally's readings. He touched her hand lightly and she squeezed her fingers around it. "How are you doing?"

"Thinking back to when you asked me who I'd want looking for me if I was ever taken," she sighed, "You were right. I wanted him looking for me and he's dead. Instead I got found by sheer chance by this Interpol agent who was following leads looking for this mercenary guy. He was following a lead and found their satellite feed and worked out where I was, and then he came and got me." She turned to look directly into Dr. Watson's eyes, "And you know what the freaky thing is? When he was telling me about it, the bloke knew your name. This Interpol agent, this Linus Sigerson bloke, said he used to know a doctor called John Watson, wondered if it was the same one. I wondered if that was you." She dipped her chin slowly. 

Dr. Watson stared at her, not sure what to think, then he registered the way that her fingertip was moving against his hand. 

* * * *

[22:07 Sally Donovan: We've recovered the footage. I'm unable to leave the hospital so I'm having a man deliver it if you name a drop point.]

[22:08 L. Sigerson: I'd prefer to pick it up.]

[22:08 Sally Donovan: Visiting hours are over. My man's name is Dr. John Watson. Mentioned you to him, he knew your name immediately, said you went back quite a ways but fell out of touch what with one thing and another. He's been in a bad way ever since his best friend died. Catching up with an old friend, that'll be just the thing to cheer him up a little, help him move on. Everyone'll see he needs that.]

[22:09 L. Sigerson: Sally]

[22:09 Sally Donovan: I'm authorised to be a point of contact for you should you require official assistance with your enquiries. But the thing is, Dr. Watson's an independent consultant to us, so that'll make it easier to provide you with any unofficial assistance you may need.]

[22:10 L. Sigerson: I see. Thank you, Sergeant. It will be good to catch up with Dr. Watson again. I'll text you with an address shortly.]

* * * *

_Her fingertip had drawn a slow SH on his hand, while she chattered on about the freaky coincidences._

_"Yes alright," he'd finally said. Then the army captain had kicked the grieving friend out of the cockpit and started driving the brain._

Now he sat at the specified address, sipping tea and waiting. _Kill order is still active, so even if Sherlock had faked his death, he couldn't come home or let me in on it,_ he thought, _But I've lots of old friends I've fallen out of touch with over the years. It's risky, but he'd already taken on risk when he decided to rescue Sally._ He glanced up at each person who entered the cafe. 

Then a voice behind him said, "Doctor Watson, I presume." And it was the same voice, the same low rich voice that sent the same shivers racing down his spine. He turned and saw... someone who didn't look much like Sherlock Holmes at all. 

Save for his energy. Save for his voice. Save for his eyes. "Linus?" Then John couldn't stop the grin from spreading across his face, "Oh my god, it's been ages!" He got up and pumped his hand, transferring the USB stick he'd palmed. Then he hugged him. "Look at you! I hear you've moved up in the world. Last time I saw you, you were still doing the smaller-time stuff, what've you been up to nowadays?"

"John... The last time you saw me..."

John waved his hand, brushing it off, "Some other time, mate, we'll talk about that later. I understand you couldn't just **tell** me and we both had our jobs to do. I've worked it out, it's fine for now. But you're still an idiot."

The relief was unmistakable. As was the smile. "It's good to see you again, John."

"And you still aren't eating properly. Come on, I've ordered a sandwich, we can share."

"You're not going to blog about this, are you?"

"Oh god, no, I'm done blogging. Nothing ever happens to me now, not since my best friend died." A glance passed between them, brief but nevertheless communicating much. "Now, how long are you in town for?"

They talked, long into the night, and exchanged contact information because that's what old friends do. _"I owe him," Sally had said, "And this is the best way I can think of to help both of you."_


End file.
